


Cuts Over Fear

by Edgelord (lostlikeme)



Series: Bathroom Division [3]
Category: Bandom, Eminem (Musician), Music RPF, My Chemical Romance, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Cutting, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11748465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostlikeme/pseuds/Edgelord
Summary: Self-harm is only okay until someone else does it.





	Cuts Over Fear

**Author's Note:**

> circa 2010ish

It’s starting to feel contrived. Gerard cleans up quick but not quick enough. The blades are back in his wallet but there’s still spilled blood in the bowl of the sink when Eminem saunters in, spiraling down the drain under the spray from the faucet. They watch each other like wild animals for four, maybe five seconds before Eminem sighs and locks the door. Do it enough times, and anything can become rotary.

“Lemme guess,” Eminem says, expression unimpressed. “It’s not what it looks like?”

Gerard tries to laugh and snorts so hard he ends up coughing. It’s 2010; they’re both dressed in black but there’s a shiny cross dangling from Eminem’s neck. 

“So this is your plan? To bleed out in a public bathroom in the middle of the Grammy’s?” He grabs for Gerard’s wrist but his hand slips in his grip. “You ain't even doing it right,” he informs him. “It's down the road not across the street.”

Gerard bites his lip. “It’s working so far.”

Eminem pulls the wallet from his back pocket and rifles through it, revealing a picture of him with his younger brother, an old condom, and two bloodstained silver blades. Gerard can't meet his own eyes in the mirror; he has stubble now, but Eminem can barely see it through the curtain of red hair and smudged makeup.

“Hold up Ronald McDonald.” He scrunches his nose at the twisted up look on Gerard’s face. “Damn, how fucked up is you?”

“I’m, uh,” Gerard stutters. “I’m not on anything right now.”

“You're sober?” Eminem wheezes and his shoulders shake. “Jesus. You need to get your head checked.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Gerard says, hunching into himself. “I just wanted to take the edge off.”

This is the first time one of them isn’t already heavily intoxicated or rolling. Eminem shrugs himself closer without really taking a step, maneuvering the razor between all of his fingers and back. He saddles up behind Gerard in the mirror, as close as either of them can be without actually touching.

“You want me to do it for you?” Eminem’s voice ghosts across the sweat pooling at the nape of his neck. “What?” he says, when Gerard doesn’t respond. For a minute it sounds like a piece of his soul is missing, splintered. “I used to do this for Kim all the time.”

The trembling gets worse and Gerard sniffles, but the crybaby routine just isn’t doing it for him. Eminem holds a blade steady and presses it slowly to Gerard’s girlishly thin arm. He tenses when it skates across his skin without drawing blood. There are scars behind the wounds, layered over one another like sheets of wax paper. 

“Kidding,” Eminem says, but Girly-Boy doesn't look like he's buying it. “I'm not that much of a psycho,” he insists, tucking the blades into his jacket and returning Gerard’s desecrated wallet. “But I used to be. Stop fuckin’ around and get yourself some help.”

“I have plenty of help,” Gerard says fiercely. “And I’m doing fine.”

Eminem presses against him from behind, leering over his shoulder. Gerard ducks his head and winces when he grabs his arm, thumb digging into half healed wounds.

“Is this fine?” His voice takes up all the space in the room when he makes a grab for Gerard's crotch. “I heard your new shit,” Eminem says, not caring whether or not Gerard believes him. He listened to the whole thing, start to finish on the plane from Detroit. “It sucks. I think you can do better.” 

He claps a hand on his back and Gerard shoves him, lifting his gaze to the their reflections. They’re about the same height, but they stand different. Eminem named his last album Recovery. Maybe this is what it really looks like.


End file.
